


Joining

by LauraEMoriarty



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Consensual Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Grey Wardens, Size Difference, Vaginal Fingering, Warden Carver Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27325012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraEMoriarty/pseuds/LauraEMoriarty
Summary: Carver is strange, for a human. A story of two Wardens.
Relationships: Female Brosca/Carver Hawke
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7
Collections: 2020 A Paragon of Their Kind Dragon Age Dwarf Exchange





	Joining

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whereismywarden (PearOh)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PearOh/gifts).



> Thank you as always to my fabulous beta. I'd be lost without your wonderful guidance.

Carver is strange, for a human.

He’s surly and grumpy, never has a smile for anyone. A surfacer with a perpetual stick up his arse, Brosca thinks, as she gathers water one evening in camp.

He can’t even manage to gather water.

But Brosca doesn’t mind that. Her Joining had been rough, and she’d nearly died when Duncan offered her the chalice. She knows intimately the pain that comes after the Joining, the hunger and the lust. Oh, how that had been such a wake up for her, the search for something deeper in their rutting at night.

Brosca wonders if Carver knows about that part. The part that has them waking to rut like so many Dust Town nugs, hungry for something that will never cease.

“Chin up, Carver,” Brosca says, biting her lower lip as she looks him over. “There are some benefits to becoming a Warden, y’know?”

“Like what?” Carver shoots back, and Brosca grins at the pink tinge of his ears. He’s cute, for a surfacer.

Weeks pass, and they fall into a routine of sorts. Patrolling Amaranthine, keeping an eye out for danger. Carver is a talented fighter, proving he’s not just brawn and no brains. She watches him, and catches him watching her. There is curiosity there, between them, a curiosity that draws her to him like wildfire. Tall and grumpy, and often too lost in his own head, but Brosca knows it’s more than that now. But there are feelings involved here— feelings she didn’t anticipate, but not unwelcome all things considered. They’ve been patching up one another’s scrapes and bumps, and he’s been guarding her back on the interminable patrols, and somehow, there are things she tells him that she’s told no other living person. There is trust there, and a sense of understanding.

At night when their eyes meet across the fire, she catches the haunted, fleeting expressions in his bright blue eyes. There’s pain there, a pain so deep it sears her with the sense of it. She knows what that pain is like, knows what it’s like to lose everything. She knows, too, the pain of losing a sibling— the sense of loss so deep and profound that nothing can heal it. They say nothing, but sit together, their thighs touching, the crackling of the campfire, the calling of the night birds as they spread their wings and commence their hunting the only sounds that pass between them.

And there are many such moments between them, so fleeting as to be unnoticed. But they’re there all the same. He patches a wound on her shoulder, and his fingers linger just a bit too long to be proper. Brosca paints elfroot and deep mushroom salve over one of Carver’s bruises, her fingers lingering as she smiles up at him. Neither of them pull away from the contact, and yet neither of them notices. Carver’s fingers are talented as he massages her shoulders, pressing into the knots that form unheeded. He’s good with his hands.

Carver is still strange, for a human, but she understands him better now.

“Here,” Carver says, handing her a bowl of rich nug stew, from only the Ancestors know where. They haven’t had fresh meat in weeks, and it smells delicious. She looks at him, her eyes narrowing.

“Where’d you get the meat?” Brosca sniffs the stew, and only smells goodness. “Actually, never mind. I don’t need to know.”

“I wouldn’t have told you anyway,” Carver shrugs, sitting back down to eat his stew beside her.

Their knees touch, and for a brief moment, Brosca glances up at him. He looks down at her, eyes softening slightly as he sets the bowl of stew down.

She knows what will happen now, and she’s almost glad they need no words between them for what inevitable precipice they will tumble from, free-falling into one another’s beds. Rather, she stands, her hips swaying as she makes for her tent, an invite written clearly if Carver has any sense at all.

His footsteps echo behind her, his presence a large, looming shadow in her peripheral vision. But she doesn’t mind that— in fact, she welcomes the large, looming shadow. Pausing as she reaches the tent, Brosca bites her lower lip, before her generous mouth curves upwards into a slow smile. Carver’s answering smile is all that she requires to know he has the same expectations of what is to come now. He towers over her, and she’s reminded of the statues of Paragons in the Hall of Heroes.

“Strip for me,” Brosca says, settling herself down on the bedroll already arranged. “Or kiss me, either works.”

Carver grins at her, and kneels down so his lips are level with hers. A simple fluid movement, and his hand slides through her hair to rest at the base of her skull, and Brosca moans softly as his lips meet hers. The flicker of tongue against closed lips has her opening fully to him, arms looping around his neck, and she pushes herself against him, her hand resting against the nape of his neck. The stubble along his jawline tickles as their kiss deepens, but she likes the sensation of it. And then her hand drops from his neck, reaching for the ties of his pants— their armour already discarded in a pile where they’d left it for the night.

Brosca grins as she encounters his hard cock, and she breaks the kiss to help Carver peel her shirt from her body, his hands deftly undoing the ties on her shirt. She likes a man who knows what he’s doing— and it is clear from the way he kisses her that he knows his way around a woman’s body. Her pulse increases in its tempo, lust drugging her as she takes his cock in her hand, gliding it up and down, and she groans alongside Carver as his mouth drags down her neck, dipping into the hollow where her collarbones meet.

There’s a tattoo of a dog— a dog of all things— on Carver’s shoulder, and she remembers seeing other Fereldans with tattoos like that. Though she’s not sure whether it’s something specific to Ferelden, or just his caste— did humans have castes? Or is the tattoo something special to him, unlike the hideous brand that marks her in Orzammar as a Dust Town gutter nug?

“You’re handsome,” Brosca says as Carver pushes her shirt off her shoulders, leaving her bare to him.

She’s never been bared to a man like this before— even in Dust Town, she had never let anyone see the scars. She’s fucked with her shirt on, her bottoms removed, just how she likes it. But with Carver, it is different, a deeper understanding and trust there— the trust between comrades-in-arms, and she feels comfortable around him. Enough so that she is ready to share the scars from years of Beraht and Jarvia’s cruelty, to the fights she has won. Its a new experience for her, and she halts the slow gliding of her hand against his hard, long cock to stare up at him. He has his eyes closed, and Brosca isn’t sure whether she likes that or not, but she knows she likes Carver.

Her breath hitches in her throat as Carver drags his hand down into the waistband of her knickers.

It’s surprising how wet she feels already, how ready for him she is. She supposes this is the new normal with the Taint coursing hot through her— but it still surprises her.

It’s been a long while since she’s fucked someone, and longer still since she’s been fucked.

She gasps as he finds her clit with unerring accuracy— something she’s never experienced before— and continues gliding her hand up and down his cock. Her thumb spreads the drop of pre-cum from his tip along the crown, as she looks up at those amazing blue eyes of his.

She’s never met anyone quite like Carver.

There’s a lot of nevers she’s discovering.

His lips meet hers with a startling urgency, and Brosca finds herself being pushed down onto the bedroll, Carver’s arms cradling her as he lies her down. Grinning up at her as he breaks the kiss, Carver focuses his attention on dragging his lips down her neck, licking and sucking.

“I like that,” Brosca groans, her hand fisting in the bedroll beside her. “What else are you hiding beneath your surly attitude?”

“Surly?” Carver breaks his concentration to look at her, but a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Do you think I’m surly?”

“Yes,” she says, as his fingers slide into the folds between her legs. “But your surly is nice.” Brosca widens her legs so Carver can better finger her. “I like that, too,” she adds, taking his hand and guides his fingers between her folds. She knows what she wants, and grins. “Finger fuck me, please.”

Carver grins, and looks at her, his eyes never leaving hers as his fingers slide into her. “Like this?” he slides two fingers into her sopping cunt, and she looks down at where his hand is.

“Yes, like that,” Brosca says, as he pulls them back out only to caress her clit with her wetness. She breathes in a sharp inhalation, loving the sensation. “Don’t stop, that feels amazing,” she adds, and Carver slides his fingers back in and out of her dripping cunt.

She leans over to take his rigid cock in her mouth, her tongue licking along the underside, and she hears him inhale deeply as she moves her tongue over the tip.

“I like that,” Carver says, his thumb gently brushing her back passage, and around his cock, Brosca lets out a little moan.

She continues to lick the underside, her hand following her mouth, before she swirls her tongue around the tip, and hears once more the hitch in Carver’s breath, and continues her efforts. He’s hard and long— longer than any other man she’s been with, but it is a novelty she won’t likely forget. She reaches down with her left hand to touch herself as she sucks her cheeks in, increasing the pressure as her head bobs up and down on Carver’s cock.

Carver is strange, for a human.

She’s never been with one who can finger fuck her quite as well as Carver does— she’s been with men before, the sodding Stone knows that, but Carver is different. Most of her experiences up until now have left her unsatisfied, but she thinks Carver will be the first to bring her satisfaction. She feels it as her fingers drift from his cock to his balls, her mouth following her hand, and she looks up at him to see his eyes closed.

He’s sliding his fingers in and out of her cunt in rapid motions, and Brosca pants from the sheer pleasure of it. But she’s so close to bursting, and from the inhalation of Carver’s breath, and the little sounds he’s making, she’s sure he won’t last much longer. Abruptly, she lets his cock spring free from his mouth, and looks up at him.

“I want you,” she says. “Inside me. Filling me,” she grins as Carver’s fingers withdraw from her cunt. She reclines on her elbows, pouting as he does so deprived of the contact of his fingers there, and her eyes rove over Carver’s lean muscular body appreciatively.

He puts his finger in his mouth, and Brosca moans at the expression on his face. It’s the most erotic thing she’s ever seen. He takes his time to lick them clean of her juices, and she puts one leg over his thigh, and then the other, reaching down to position his cock so that in the next surge of his hips, he will hit her and enter in one stroke.

Brosca lips meet his in a searing kiss, tasting herself on his lips, and Carver’s arms wrap around her waist, and he thrusts upwards.

Carver’s cock is long, and hard, and oh Ancestors and the Stone it feels— she’s never been with a human before— it feels good. Inch by torturous inch, she sinks down onto it, and Carver’s hands move to her arse, cupping her cheeks as she sinks further and further down. Brosca lips find Carver’s once more, her hand sliding through his hair as she lets out a satisfied sigh.

Maybe Carver’s not so strange for a human, after all.

She loves it when his mouth drags down the column of her throat, and he dips his head to kiss the hollow between her breasts.

“That is wonderful,” Brosca moans, throwing her head back so he can kiss her throat once more, his teeth lightly grazing against her earlobe. “Do that again.”

Carver complies.

She’s never had a considerate lover like Carver before. And he is considerate and generous, following her cues as they reach the point of no return, the moment before they plunge over the precipice towards completion. She leans back as Carver’s hands support her, her toes curling, a small shiver raising gooseflesh on her arms. She is breathless, letting the new sensations wash over her, as she has never before felt this completion in the arms of another. Another first for her.

“I’m close,” she says, her hand fisting on the bedroll.

“Tell me when,” Carver says, cradling her neck.

She likes that about him. The consideration he shows her. She’s not used to that.

Men, in her experience, have been selfish.

Carver isn’t.

But she grins up at him, her smile broad and she sees his eyes closing, the look on his face rapturous. She leans forward to capture his mouth in a kiss, and Carver kisses back, his hands never ceasing to support her as they plunge finally over the edge, and Carver makes an effort to withdraw from her, but she halts him.

“I like it inside,” she says, breath coming in short pants. “I think it’s hot.”

Carver’s blue eyes meet hers. “I didn’t want to assume,” he tells her, kissing her once more.

His hands caress her neck, changing his position and she gasps as he rubs against her most sensitive spots, just as she likes it. “I’m… I’m,” her words stop in an incoherent babble of moaning. She clings to him, her hands digging into the soft flesh of Carver’s shoulders, her fingers raking down his back.

“I can tell,” Carver says, with a cocky little grin that has her melting against him like a candle long burning.

Brosca’s lips find Carver’s for a moment, before her gasp of pleasure escapes her as she tumbles over the edge. She has never felt this sensation before, the shivering that has her toes curling and her chest heaving. Carver nuzzles her neck with his nose, his mouth closing around her earlobe, tugging at it with his teeth. Her nails and fingers rake his back, hoping she leaves marks that claim Carver as irrevocably hers.

A shudder courses through her, and she moans as she feels him spend inside her. She holds him there, her lips finding his once more, biting down the moan she so wants to let out, the sound that makes everyone in camp know precisely what Brosca and Carver are doing in her tent. Carver holds her, his hand raking through her long hair, their combined juices dripping from her cunt, and she reaches her fingers down to taste it.

It is salty and there’s another unknowable tang to their mingled joining spend. Carver leans over as Brosca kisses his chest, grinning up at him. Carver notices, and bends forwards so their lips meet, tongues sliding between parted lips so she tastes him, and Ancestors, he tastes good.

“Brosca,” Carver says as gooseflesh rises on her arms.

“It’s Zora, actually,” Brosca says, her eyes meeting his. “Zora Brosca.”

“Zora,” Carver repeats, and holds her closer, never breaking their connection.

Carver is no longer strange for a human.

She understands that now. She knows too, that when death takes them, that he will be with her at the end— when the Taint ends their lives. He will be by her side as they traverse the Deep Roads, his two-handed greatsword complementing her crossbow when the end comes for both of them. A lifetime— twenty years— stretches before them, and she knows that Carver will walk beside her all the way. For when the end comes, she knows that it will be with Carver beside her.

In war, victory

In peace, vigilance

In death, sacrifice.


End file.
